


This Isn't What I Wanted

by veroreos



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Homoeroticism, M/M, Swearing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroreos/pseuds/veroreos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Washington is trying to track down his old partner that shot him in the back. Private Tucker found something he shouldn't have, and he's going to pay for that mistake. Maybe they can both get what they want if they can refrain from stepping on each other's toes.</p><p>Rating and warnings subject to change, etc etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Had Me At "Don't Fucking Stalk Me"

Contrary to what people often told him, Tucker was not stupid. Lazy, sure, immature, definitely, but stupid was something he hadn't been since he was old enough to work Google. Just because he never wanted to work didn't mean he wasn't capable. Everyone saw how hard he'd worked to get through basic training, but ever since then, he'd lived the life of a slacker. His superiors had all insisted that he should work harder to get through the ranks and he'd never listened. Tucker knew too, though. He knew he was talented, he knew he was strong, he knew he was cunning and alert and quick on his feet.

So when the man in the gray jacket started following him home from work, Tucker was well aware. And he was ready to fuck the guy's shit up.

Tucker wasn't stupid, and Tucker wasn't afraid. Even as he took a dark side street instead of his usual route home, even has he pulled the hood on his sweatshirt over his head as he approach the dead end of this alleyway, even as he turned to face the figure in the trenchcoat that he couldn't make out clearly in the shadows and demanded to know who they were and what they wanted from him, he wasn't afraid.

When the figure pulled out a gun Tucker was only a _little_ afraid.

“You wanna go, asshole?” He'd wanted a reason to play with his new toy. Sure, the couple of times he'd gotten into scuffles with his fists he'd fared well enough, but he really needed something to give him an edge. When he pulled out the alien metal handle that was like nothing he'd ever seen before, gave it a swing, and summoned the bright light and sharp point of the sword that illuminated the alleyway and bathed the two men in blue light, the other man was visibly surprised, and Tucker found himself grinning. “I didn't think so.”

The man was only caught off-guard for a moment though, before he lowered his gun only slightly and finally spoke. “Calm down, Private Tucker.”

“Private--?” Momentary shock at his formal title was quickly replaced by anger. “You fucking stalk me all the way from work into a dark alley, pull a goddamn gun on me, then tell me to 'calm down'? Fuck you! You calm down! Drop the gun and get the fuck away from me!”

Tucker's military training had returned to him quite clearly now as Tucker gripped the handle of the blade, taking a step forward and keeping his eyes trained on the other man. The man in the jacket complied as far as putting the gun down and raising his hands to show he was holding nothing else. “I don't mean you any harm. I just had to make sure you were who I thought you were.”

“Really? You couldn't tap me on the shoulder and fucking ask? Look me up on Facebook or fucking anything else?” 

Tucker took another step forward. The man kept his hands in the air, but did not move, his gaze unwavering. “I needed to be sure that you were the one with the _stolen military research_ as I suspected, Private Tucker.”

Momentarily forgetting his position, Tucker glanced to his sword, and in that moment the other man stepped forward, attempting to knock it out of his hand. But Tucker was always faster than they gave him credit for and he quickly shifted to the side, raising the sword and holding it to the man's neck. The man knew well enough than to try again.

“If you mean this sword thing, I found it in a fucking dumpster, dude. Finder's keepers.” The man looked at Tucker incredulously, but Tucker continued, scowling. “All you had to do is fucking ask! Not fucking stalk me!”

“You honestly expect me to believe you found it...in a dumpster?”

“Are you fucking deaf? _Yes_. It looked like a weird dumb hunk of plastic, but when I accidentally picked it up while trying to get out, this crazy light came out of it and...well, now it does this.” Tucker stepped back a foot and gave it a few swings. Both to demonstrate how easily Tucker could slice the man to pieces, and also because it was just _really fucking badass_. “Now seriously, tell me who you are or get the fuck away from me!”

The man watched him carefully for a moment before pulling out his wallet, flashing an ID and a badge. “Special Agent Washington.”

Tucker immediately froze up. “Ahhhh, fuckberries...”

“I think we should have a chat back at your place.”


	2. Finders Keepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker explains where he found the sword, but he's not as willing to part with it as Washington was hoping he'd be.

“This place is an absolute pigsty.” Washington regarded the garbage littered across the floor and dirty clothes scattered across the furniture with disgust while Tucker made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up.

“Yeah, well, I didn't realize I'd be having company today,” Tucker grumbled, shoving the clothes into another room. “Make yourself at home or whatever.”

Washington briefly contemplated sitting on the couch before deciding against it, instead moving to inspect the walls of the living room. Tucker rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch, taking up the entire length. Washington spoke, but continued to scrutinize the stains on the walls of the apartment rather than face him. “So, you were digging around in a dumpster when you--?”

“What do I look like, some kind of fucking hobo?” Tucker scoffed. To prove his point, Washington turned and surveyed the trash still on the dirty floor. “On second thought, never mind, don't answer that.”

“Then what were you doing in a dumpster?” Something akin to embarrassment flashed across Tucker's face for only a moment before he forced himself to grin. Suddenly leaning back and propping his chin up on his hand against the armrest, with his legs kicked up onto the coffee tabled and with a kind of self confidence that piqued Washington's curiosity, Tucker began. 

“It all started when I got off work a few weeks ago. I was working cashier, and my last customer for the night, this chick—she was totally checking me out, but she kept looking away like she didn't want me to notice. But it was so obvious! And when my shift was over, she was waiting outside, so I decided to be straightforward instead of bullshitting around and asked if she wanted to go somewhere private to get it on...”

“Woah woah, wait a minute.” Tucker groaned at Washington's sudden interjection.

“Dude, you're the one who wanted me to tell you the story, so don't interrupt when I'm getting to the good part!”

“You guys seriously had sex in a _dumpster_?”

“What?! Dude, that's disgusting! My place is a mess but I've got standards! No, her boyfriend came and beat me up and threw me in there.”

Part of Washington wanted to roar with laughter, but the other part of him was in control and furrowed his brows instead. “Private Tucker, aside from your behavior being entirely crude and inappropriate to begin with, it's also embarrassing for someone of your skills and talents to be taken down so easily.”

Tucker snorted. “Seriously? Fuck you. The guy was huge, and on top of that, he snuck up on me. I didn't stand a chance, and I wasn't about to start causing a big scene in the middle of the fucking street.” Washington crossed his arms, but Tucker continued, unphased. “Anyway. I waited in the dumpster for them to leave, and while I was trying to get good footing so I could climb out, I accidentally grabbed this thing,” he pulled out the handle again for emphasis, “and it got all glowy and stuff like I showed you earlier, so...yeah. I took it home and I've just held onto it.”

It was silent for a long while in the apartment as the two simply stared at each other. Tucker shifted uncomfortably under Washington's gaze. He couldn't tell what he was thinking, if he was angry or bewildered or trying not to laugh at what was admittedly a pitiful tale. Eventually, Washington spoke again, and when he did, his voice was quiet and calm. “Let me see it.”

The idea of refusing left the moment Tucker's eyes met Washington's stern gaze, and instead he sighed, tossing the handle to him. Washington turned it over a few times in his hands until he gripped it properly, giving it a few experimental swings as if the blade were there. “Well?” Tucker leaned against the armrest again, watching the other man closely. “At least use it right, dude.”

“I don't...” Tucker raised a brow as Washington turned to him. “How do you turn it on?”

“Turn it on? Dude, just...you gotta, you swing it and...uh, give it here.” Washington frowned as Tucker stood from the couch and walked over to him, giving the handle back to the other man. With a quick slash downward, the blade of light came to life, the hum of electricity faint in the air. “See? You just...do it it.”

Tucker handed the handle back to Washington, but as soon as it left his hand, the blade disappeared. Washington swung it repeatedly, eventually ending up flailing it wildly around the apartment as Tucker did his best not to laugh. “Maybe it runs on some kind of genetic scanner...” Washington mumbled, putting the handle into his pocket. “Oh well, I'll take it back to the lab and--”

“Ohhhh no no, that shit's mine!” Before he could prepare himself, Tucker was suddenly upon him, snatching the handle back from out of his pocket and backing up before Washington could grab him.

“Are you out of your mind, Private?!” Washington stomped over, quickly backing Tucker into a corner. Tucker didn't have enough room to activate the blade without likely injuring either of them in the process. Washington planted on either side of Tucker, gray eyes staring down at him. “Need I remind you that that is stolen military equipment you have in your hand?! You're impeding the law, and--”

“You can't prove that it's a military weapon!” Washington blinked, and Tucker shoved him away, not with great force but enough to make him back off. “You don't even know what this fucking thing is! It might be a rejected science fair project! Maybe some kind of sick alien technology!”

“Alien techno—Tucker, that's just ridiculous! It's clearly some sort of advanced project that--”

“You're just making shit up! You don't even know what it is you're looking for, do you?”

Washington opened his mouth to retort, but when he couldn't find what to say, Tucker laughed bitterly and walked to the other side of the room before looking back to the agent. “If you can tell me exactly what this thing is and it turns out that it is what you're looking for, I'll give it to you, alright? Otherwise, it's mine, fair and square.”

He twirled the handle to wave it in front of Washington, and the agent scowled as he bid the man a farewell and goodnight as he left.

He could only hope Tucker would keep his word, and that the answers would be easy to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've honestly never written a multi-chapter fic this serious and plot-y so I basically have no idea what I'm doing ahahaha??? Comments and critique are GREATLY appreciated! I hope you're enjoying! <3


	3. Tell Me All About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington has more questions than answers. Tucker doesn't have much respect for authority, and as it turns out, Washington doesn't really have authority anyway.

When Tucker got off from work, Washington was waiting outside, sitting on the bench by the automatic doors.

Tucker glanced to him and rolled his eyes before walking again, making only minimal effort to stifle the annoyed groan. Washington stood up and jogged a few steps to catch up before walking alongside Tucker. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tucker interrupted. “Let me guess; you need to talk to me, but it'd probably safer to do it in private, so we should go to my place. Right?”

Washington looked genuinely surprised, a pleased sort of half-smile making its way to his face. “You really are a fast learner, aren't you, Private Tucker?”

“Would you quit with the weird formalities?” His pace stayed even as he tugged at his sweatshirt and the bag slung over his shoulder. “Do I look like a soldier to you? Right now, I'm just Lavernius Tucker, so quit treating this like some kind of top-secret military operation.”

“Once a soldier, always a soldier,” Washington responded quietly, but he made a point to bite his tongue for the rest of the trip. He tried to make pleasant conversation, such as how Tucker's day was or if anything exciting had happened at work, but Tucker had mostly grumbled in response. He wasn't sure if Tucker was dissatisfied with his job or just dissatisfied with Washington stopping by again, but he made a point not to ask anymore.

Tucker's apartment was virtually the same as it had been the previous day when Washington visited, the only difference being some of the clutter had been rearranged. Tucker tossed his bag haphazardly off to the side, flopping lazily on the couch and letting out a sigh of content relief to be resting his feet at last.

A recently washed pile of clothes sat on the only chair adjacent to the couch. Washington idly started folding the pile while waiting for Tucker to unwind, and when Tucker finally propped himself up on his elbows, watching Washington with a suspicious kind of curiosity, Washington spoke. “Your old CO made quite a few notes about your...hygiene habits, Private Tucker.”

“I fucking knew it.”

“Pardon?”

“I fucking knew you would go through my file.” Tucker laid back down, crossing his arms behind his head. “Like I said, I'm not much of a soldier, so just drop it, alright?”

“But why though?” This time Tucker made it a point to groan loudly in aggravation. Washington set down the shirt he'd just folded to focus on Tucker. “You had amazing marks and times. All of your CO's were impressed, if you just had a little more discipline and if you'd have just stuck with it—“

“Oh come on, Wash.” Washington raised a brow at the nickname but stayed silent as Tucker finally sat himself properly upright. “It takes a certain kind of guy to be a soldier. Look at you! You've got a stick far enough up your ass at just the right length to make it as whatever kind of special-ops guy you are.” Tucker laughed as Washington frowned like a disapproving parent. “See? Here you are trying to tell me what to do, whining at me because I don't want to live up to your standards. You're a natural, aren't you?”

He was tempted to yell, but many years of discipline helped Washington calm himself down, breathing in and out deeply through his nose and turning to resume folding clothes. “You don't like being bossed around, is that it? Can't follow orders? Can't listen to anyone else because you're so concerned with what you want?”

“Don't talk to me like I'm a kid throwing a fucking tantrum!” Washington snorted and Tucker realized that he'd proved him right just then, but the Private crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch, looking away. He wanted to slap Washington for folding his clothes. “I didn't sign up to be a model soldier boy or some kind of hero. I enlisted because I didn't have shit else to do after high school. The only reason I was there is because I had no where else to go. And then, even after apparently being sooo skilled and sooo talented, I still got pushed around by a bunch of idiots that sat around on their asses all day. They were preparing us to be shipped out to war but they sat around bitching at us to clean the latrines and all this dumb shit that didn't matter.” Tucker could feel Washington's eyes on him, but he didn't turn to face him. “Maybe I could have been a somebody in the military, Wash. Maybe I could have been a big boy like you, doing all kinds of badass secret missions and whatever else you do. But if I have to kiss the ass of every moron a rank above me to get there, then forget it. I'd rather have my dignity than bend over for someone who doesn't deserve it.”

They spent a long time in silence before Tucker finally looked back to Washington. He'd finished folding all the clothes.

“Being a soldier is about more than catering to your fragile ego, Private Tucker.”

“Did you seriously come all this fucking way just to lecture me? I've heard it a thousand times and it was old before you got here.”

Washington picked up the pile of clothes, setting it onto the coffee table before finally taking a seat in the now available chair. “It wasn't originally why I needed to speak to you, but I just needed to ask about it.”

“Great. Never ask again.”

“Fair enough. I'm sorry.”

The small apology did enough to soothe Tucker's anger. Leaning back, seeming to have relaxed a bit, Tucker removed the sword handle from his sweatshirt pocket. "Did you find out what this thing is? Are you going to take it back?" Washington could tell that Tucker had prepared himself for this, though he still looked remorseful all the same.

"Truthfully, I still don't know," Washington said hesitantly, running a hand through his hair. "They won't tell me exactly what they're looking for, and--"

"Hold the fuck up. They sent an investigator to go find their stolen shit, but they won't even tell him what he's looking for?"

For a moment Tucker was enraged on Washington's behalf, and Washington was flattered enough to let slip a smile before shaking his head. “No, it's not...well, it's just that...they don't trust me is all.”

“Don't trust you?” Tucker was angry for his sake once more, but only for a moment until he realized the other implications. “...Why don't they trust you?” Washington was quiet, lowering his head and looking away. “Wash.”

“I haven't been completely upfront with you.”

“What are you trying to say?” Washington exhaled deeply before finally finding the nerve to face Tucker. Intense eyes stared him down and he felt backed into a corner.

He laughed bitterly, looking down again. Those eyes were too piercing. “I...wasn't actually sent here. I came of my own volition. Technically, I shouldn't be here.”

“I don't get it. Why did you come here then? If you weren't sent here to investigate, then why the fuck are you here?”

“They told me to stand down, but I heard the rumors and nobody else would look in on it, so I went and did it myself. Taking initiative, you know--?”

“You son of a bitch!” Hands flew to Washington's coat and he was suddenly being pulled to his feet. He forced himself to face Tucker again and could feel those eyes drilling into him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Stand down, Private! I already told you! I'm Agent Washington, and I'm just an investigator with--”

“Bullshit! Why the fuck would they refuse to let an investigator to investigate? Why don't they trust you? Why would you follow some random kid on a lead that nobody else would take seriously? Who are you, and what do you get out of all of this?”

Their eyes locked, and Tucker was so focused on channeling his anger that he missed it when Washington grabbed him by his sweatshirt and shoved him away. He figured the agent was strong, but had underestimated him as he stumbled back, nearly falling onto the coffee table. He bumped into the pile and some of the freshly clean clothes tumbled onto the dirty floor.

“Private Tucker.” Washington's eyes were suddenly cold. Tucker swallowed the lump forming in his throat, gripping the sword handle tightly. “Give me the sword. If I can take it back with me, I can prove that it was from the shipment of stolen technology.”

With one smooth movement the sword suddenly came to life, and the two men began to step away from each other. Tucker gritted his teeth as his legs hit the sofa, and Washington scowled when he hit the wall behind him. 

“I told you that I'd give it to you if you had proof. You have no proof, and on top of that, you don't even have the authority to be here.” Tucker raised his arm, holding the sword outright at Washington. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Why won't you cooperate with me?” Tucker faltered for a moment, indignant that Washington would even ask. Washington took a few steps forward and Tucker brought his stance inward, keeping his sword outstretched as he seemed to curl in on himself. “Do you understand the position you're in? You find a high-tech weapon that we can't figure out how it works or where it came from, yet instead of helping us, you're choosing to cling to it like it's a fucking toy!”

“Helping 'us?' Helping _you!_ If I were really helping your investigation squad, they would have actually sent you here instead of you stalking me down a fucking alleyway and then demanding shit from me! Well guess what, Washington? I don't have to listen to you! You're not my commanding officer! You're not even a proper fucking investigator here! You're _nothing!_ ”

Washington's face contorted in what might have been pain at that last jab, and some part of Tucker wanted to take it back. The other part wanted him to leave.

They stood together in silence for a long time longer until Washington began to take a few steps back. Understanding that he'd overstayed his welcome, he sighed and made his way to the door. “Pardon my intrusion then, Private Tucker.” The name was spoken not with venom, but with a kind of exhausted frustration. He did not slam the door behind him, but instead closed it gently.

After he left, Tucker sat down, running a hand through his thick, curly hair before moving to fold the clothes that had fallen to the ground.


	4. Invasion of Privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington was sure that Tucker was overreacting until he finally figured out what was really going on. Tucker's not the least bit pleased about it.

At the first three knocks, nobody answered.

On the next three knocks, Washington could hear muffled grumbling from the other side of the door.

After another three knocks, he finally got a proper response. “Fuck off, Washington!”

Well, at least he wasn't forgotten. “Look, Private Tucker, I'm sorry about--”

“Don't fucking call me that!” Footsteps approached the door from inside the apartment. Washington crossed his arms and tapped his foot, waiting for the door to open, but instead he was met with only vaguely louder muffled shouting. “I don't care if you have a goddamn fruit basket with an apology, I don't fucking want it! Go away! I'm so sick of you!”

“You're being completely unreasonable right now!” Washington could almost feel Tucker rolling his eyes and he had to resist the urge to kick the door down. “I'm sorry for not being completely straightforward with you, alright? But you're overreacting! Just let me in so we can talk about this!”

“If you wanted to talk you should have thought about that before deciding to be a creepy asshole!”

“Are you still mad about that?! I already said I was sorry! Look, it was a stupid thing to do, and I'll never do it again, but you've got to let it go--!”

“You apologized the first time I caught you, and here you are apologizing the second time I've caught you! Your apologies don't really seem like they're worth jack shit, Wash!”

“I already said that I...wait, what?” There was a brief pause from both parties. “...Second time?”

“Don't even try to play dumb! Just because I didn't kick his ass doesn't mean I didn't notice the guy you sent to start following me fucking weeks ago!”

This time there was a much longer silence. Tucker stood with his fist shaking, teeth clenched, leaning against the door until he finally shouted out again.

“Well?!”

“Private Tucker.”

“Fucking—I fucking told you not to--!”

“I didn't send anyone to follow you.”

Washington could swear he heard a pin drop somewhere.

“...Do you see anyone out there?”

A quick glance over his shoulder was enough to tell him no. He'd have noticed someone tailing him, someone watching him. Whoever was following Tucker wasn't here right now, or at least, wasn't anywhere he could be spotted.

“It's all clear.”

The door opened just enough for Washington to slip inside and slammed shut immediately after.

 

 

 

They'd found cameras in his apartment.

After carefully disabling them (save for the one that Tucker got a hold of and smashed to pieces before he could be stopped), Washington laid all of them out on the coffee table. There were four total; one for the living room, one for the kitchen, one for the bedroom, and one for the bathroom.

Tucker sat with his head in his hands, mumbling about “the sick fucks watching” him as Washington inspected one of the cameras.

“This is some pretty high-grade stuff. Military-grade, even.”

“That's real fucking comforting, Wash.”

He tossed the camera back onto the table and Tucker glanced up at the clattering metal on wood. Washington offered an apologetic smile, but Tucker only shook his head and drooped again. “Well, I'm pretty sure we've got all of them now, but who knows what they're going to do now that we've severed their surveillance.”

“Great. A bunch of creeps that watch me sleep and shit, and now we've pissed them off. Incredible! Everything's just been going so damn well since you showed up!”

“I'm not the one who picked up stolen tech, Tucker.” Washington didn't mean to sound snappy, but as soon as Tucker started snapping back he immediately regretted it.

“Yeah, but I didn't get stalked until you showed up! You were the first one to start following me around, and ever since then there's been all kinds of shit I have to put up with!”

This time Washington bit his tongue. “Look...I said I was sorry, and I am. I suppose this is my fault.”

Tucker blinked in surprise, as if he'd been ready to fight it out. Instead, he seemed to deflate a bit, leaning back in the scratchy chair and glancing off to the side. “Well...yeah, it is. Thanks a lot, asshole.” To this Washington chuckled, and Tucker almost found himself laughing as well. “What's the plan now, special agent?”

Washington stood up, stretching his back a bit before straightening out. “They know I'm here now, so they probably won't try anything. It'd probably be best if I stayed here for a little while--”

“Are you seriously inviting yourself over?” Tucker looked incredulous, but there was also a hint of amusement in his eyes. “It's not a goddamn high school sleepover, Wash. Don't you have work to do or something? You can't just go around staying at other people's apartments whenever you want, can you?”

“Don't worry about it. I'm on medical leave.” Ignoring the suspicious look Tucker was giving him, Washington finally shrugged off his gray trench coat, folding it over the side of the chair. “I can go to the store and pick up some things tonight, but you better come with me.”

Tucker shook his head, rising to his feet as well. “I've got a spare toothbrush and shit, dude. And you're only a little taller than me, so my shorts will probably fit you, right?”

Washington tried not to let the shock show on his face, but he couldn't contain the surprised grin. “Half an hour ago you wouldn't even let me in, now you're offering to share clothes?”

“It's just pj's Wash, and it beats going grocery shopping with you like a goddamn married couple.” Washington let out a small laugh as Tucker made his way over to the closet, digging through the mess until he found a pillow and a blanket which he promptly tossed to the other man. “Come on, let's get this shit over with. I want to go to bed.”

Washington gave a nod, but before he began setting up his makeshift bed, he paused. “Tucker?”

“Yeah?” Tucker had migrated to the bathroom to dig up the spare toothbrush.

“I really am sorry about all this.”

A pause.

“It's fine, Wash. Really.”

Washington was almost sure Tucker actually meant it.


	5. Cooling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Washington nor Tucker are really used to having roommates. Tucker should really invest in some air conditioning.

Washington wasn't sure why Tucker had bothered giving him a blanket at all. It was too damn hot to sleep.

While he didn't feel comfortable enough to stroll around nude in someone else's apartment, he'd long since given up on sleeping with the blanket, and shortly after that he'd peeled off his shirt and pants and settled for sleeping in boxers the past three nights.

Of course the shitty little apartment wouldn't have air conditioning, but goddamn, how could it be so hot?

Stifling a groan, Wash sat up, running a hand through his hair slick with sweat. Rolling around on the spare sheets squashed onto the tiny couch could only do so much for him before the effort itself was exhausting. Turning on the TV briefly crossed his mind, but glancing to the clock revealed it was nearly 3 am and he doubted Tucker would respond well to being woken up.

Wash eased himself to his feet, making a face when the floor creaked softly in protest. Between exchanging snide remarks, yelling at each other, or simply bickering about something stupid like groceries for the past week, Wash supposed he'd never payed much attention to the actual state of the apartment. As he stood, he looked up and counted the grease stains on the ceiling. He paced around the furniture and counted the pictures and posters on the walls, the dents on the walls from moving furniture, the knicks on the floor and the small holes and wears in the furniture.

The floor continued to squeak as Washington went to each window and peered out. The roads were empty of cars and people, completely still as the heavy air prevented even a wind for a rustling bag or for leaves to tumble in the breeze. Washington sighed and made his way back to the couch, flopping onto it and stretching out his legs as he stifled a yawn. Previous nights he'd spent going through old photos or doing laundry or cleaning the filthy bathroom, but now that everything was in proper order Washington couldn't think of anything to idle himself with.

He made one last attempt to sleep. After closing his eyes and laying in the heat for a good 5 minutes, he sat up once more, rubbing his eyes before dragging himself to his feet again. This time he quietly moved to the bedroom door. It wouldn't hurt to check on Tucker to make sure he was alright, and maybe if he was awake, they could chat or watch TV or something.

Washington quietly opened the door and then immediately regretted his decision.

“ _Holy fucking shit!_ ”

His body forced him to look away and slap a hand over his eyes before he even really registered what was happening. “Fuck—no, shit, Tucker, I'm sorry, I was just—!”

“Haven't you ever heard of knocking?! Jesus, Wash!”

“I thought you were asleep! I was just trying to check on you!”

“Oh my _god_ Wash, get out!”

Washington nearly tripped over his own feet as he scurried backwards and used his free hand to slam the door shut. Tucker grumbled and scratched at the back of his head, letting out a deep breath he'd forgotten he was holding. Great, now his dick was limp and he had a traumatized special agent to deal with. What a perfect way to finish a shitty week.

He put on the pair of boxers he'd tossed aside earlier and eventually opened the door. Washington was sitting on the couch, hunched over with his head in his hands. Tucker rolled his eyes. “I didn't want to put a sock on the door, but good god Wash, you have got to knock first. Haven't you ever had roommates?”

“Not really, except for the barracks, but nobody ever really—I never really had to worry about—“

“Look, just relax, alright?” Washington still had his head in his hands, and when Tucker craned his neck to see to try to see around them, he saw bright red cheeks. “Dude, are you blushing like a girl?” To this Washington buried his face further into his hands and Tucker had to resist the urge to laugh. “Come on, just calm down. It's fine. We're guys, we...have to relieve stress once in awhile. Just fucking knock and it'll be like it never happened!”

Washington eventually let out a small sigh and raised his head, finally managing to meet Tucker's gaze. There was something his eyes Tucker couldn't quite place; not quite embarrassment, but something closer to frustration, if he had to guess. Tucker raised a brow but didn't ask on it as Washington finally spoke. “I'm...really sorry about that. I figured you were asleep, and I...I wasn't thinking. I'll be more careful next time.”

“Er...right. Really, it's cool.” Tucker resigned himself to the chair adjacent to the couch, kicking his legs up onto the table. “You couldn't sleep either then, huh?”

Washington snorted, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah. How come you don't buy a fan or something?”

“All the fans I buy break since they're always on all the time, so I just gave up. I can't really afford a really nice one or anything, so I just sleep naked.”

“Good lord, Tucker. Haven't you ever had roommates?” Washington gave a small grin and Tucker couldn't help but laugh. Wash then rose to his feet, walking towards the bathroom. “I'm just going to take a cold shower and then try to finally get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Tucker watched him walk away, noticing for the first time the rough lines of scars and stitches across his back. He'd spent so much time getting annoyed with Washington and his dumb prying and constantly trying to rearrange everything that he'd never really asked Washington about himself. Wash knew everything about him, yet he knew nothing about Wash, and as Wash stretched before opening the bathroom door, Tucker could swear he saw him wince.

Tucker didn't say anything as Washington disappeared into the bathroom, and was quiet as he returned to his bedroom.


	6. And Then, There Was One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker's finally started to piece things together, and he decides it's time for Washington to come clean about it. Wash would rather not.

“You know, Wash, I'm technically not supposed to have a roommate, according to my lease.”

Washington was in the middle of raising the fork to his mouth but he stopped, his attention suddenly on Tucker. Apparently even a nice spaghetti dinner couldn't go without someone bitching about _something_.

“I'm not really a roommate, Tucker. I'm just...staying for awhile. We've talked about this.” They both stared at each other for a moment before Tucker raised one arm, gesturing to the rest of the room. “...What?”

“You've rearranged my entire fucking apartment!”

At some point Washington had given the excuse that he was making it more space-efficient, but thinking back on it, Wash was pretty sure he had just been bored. The room could be arranged much more efficiently than it was now, what was he thinking? The couch should definitely be up against the--

“God _damn_ Wash, are you even listening?”

“Look Tucker,” Washington finally said, setting the fork down. “If you don't like it, you can change it back. It's just furniture.”

Tucker rolled his eyes so hard he could swear he feelt he headache coming on before letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “Come on Wash, seriously? You've been here for weeks. We haven't seen heads or tails of the asshole tailing me since you got here, and I don't know how much more I can deal with you constantly rearranging the furniture, or the fridge, or—fuck, you keep switching laundry detergent, too!”

“Alright, alright! I'll stop touching your stuff! Jesus, I thought you'd appreciate me cleaning up all your crap, but apparently not!” Washington stood up and grabbed his plate, turning on his heel to the kitchen. He wasn't hungry anymore. He was pretty sure he knew where this argument was going, and he'd hold it off for as long as he could before—

“Wash, why are you here?”

And there it went. Washington reflexively stopped, feeling Tucker's eyes boring into his skull until he finally turned to look at him. “I'm protecting you.”

“From what? And don't say whoever was in my apartment, because I have a feeling you know who it was and you're not telling me.”

“Tucker--”

“No! Don't _Tucker_ me, you've been ducking around this for weeks and I want to know what you're so goddamn worried about that you won't tell me even though you're camped out on my fucking couch!”

Their eyes were locked and Tucker could swear Washington was about to throw that plate at him, but instead the pale man let out an exasperated sigh, gently setting the plate onto the counter. “Alright. Fine. You want to have this talk? Whatever.”

Washington sounded like he was trying pretty hard to play it off, like he didn't care, but Tucker felt himself grinning at the victory. He'd spent weeks trying to figure out what his deal was; he was a special agent, but with nowhere to be and nothing to do; he was on medical leave, but he seemed to be in perfect health; he was clearly bored out of his wits hanging around the apartment all day, yet he wouldn't fucking leave. None of it seemed to add up, but Tucker had a few hunches as to what he was really up to. Hell, if Wash just wanted company he could have done a hell of a lot better than Tucker, unless Washington was just looking for someone to bitch at all day.

“Tucker.”

Washington was then sitting across the table from him, arms folded close to his chest, expression stern and hard like the day they'd first met.

“I think I know who's after you. And I think they've been after me too.”

“Jesus Wash, seriously?” Tucker put his hands on the table, leaning in with his chin jerked towards the other man. “You've known this entire fucking time and you didn't say anything?”

Washington still had the same look of business on his face, but he shrugged almost casually. “I figured it wouldn't make much difference. If anything, it'd just make you more stressed out, more hesitant to trust me--”

“Well gee, that makes me feel better knowing you just decided to keep it a secret instead of worrying me. How can I ever thank you.”

“Do you want to hear this or not, Tucker?”

“Just—start from the beginning. Who are you, really?” The blonde took a moment to contemplate this, running a hand through is hair before slumping back. “Oh come on, don't go into an existential crisis on me.”

“It's nothing like that,” Washington said, a bit quietly like he was still deciding what he wanted to say. “I...well, I've already told you, really.”

“No, not really? You told me you were an agent, yet you're on medical leave for some reason and they won't let you work on this case you're so obsessed with, so you've clearly got some kind of personal tie to the case.”

For a moment Washington was almost alarmed that Tucker's caught on to him, but it was to be expected after living with him for a few weeks like this. He knew Tucker was bright from the beginning and he was bound to start piecing it together eventually.

“I was in charge of looking over the weapons that were stolen.”

Tucker raised a brow, but otherwise looked unsurprised. “So this is about redeeming yourself?”

“No, no. Not like that. Hell, that might be easier.” Washington laughed bitterly and it caught Tucker offguard. “Well...maybe in a sense. It's more like...revenge.”

Then Tucker looked really confused, brows knitted together as he tried to process what Washington was saying. “How is that any different? You're trying to mend your broken pride or whatever, right?”

“Not really.”

Suddenly Washington stood, and before Tucker could even question him he began taking off his shirt. The dark man protested only briefly before Wash turned around, the scarring across his back laid bare for Tucker to see. Tucker was immediately quiet.

“My partner and I were supposed to be looking after the weapons together, but she decided it'd be more profitable to steal it and sell it. I found out and tried to stop her, so she...did this to me.”

Honestly, Tucker was pretty amazed Washington was alive. The scars went all across his back, a few of them bullet wounds, others looked like they came from burns or cuts. Whoever she was, she must've fucked him up pretty bad to leave all those marks, yet Wash still walked around like nothing was wrong for the most part other than his annoying brooding.

“Right. So you think that my sword was part of that shipment, and that she's going to try to get it back, and if you stick around with me you'll find her?”

“You catch on as quickly as your files--”

“Fuck dude, haven't we talked about that?”

“Right, sorry.”

It finally hit Tucker that it wasn't really about the weapons at all. Washington was looking for the one that had betrayed him, and judging by the deadly look in his eyes whenever the subject was brought up and the way he was so dead set on finding the person responsible, Tucker was pretty sure Washington was more determined to return the favor than to get the weapons back.

Washington was putting his shirt back on when Tucker pushed his chair back and stood himself. “Look, Wash, I get what you're trying to do, and it's really noble and stuff, but--”

“Let me guess: you don't want anything to do with it.”

“Pretty much.”

The blond didn't face him, but Tucker could see him frowning from the other side of the table. “Tucker, I'm sorry, but you're already involved, there's not much I can--”

“If you were really sorry for getting me involved you wouldn't have decided to start living with me, _jackass_.” The profanity is out of place compared to Tucker's usual swearing; it's suddenly hostile, a bit crueler, and Washington felt his gut sink. This was going exactly as he was afraid it would.

“I really do want to protect you, Tucker.” Washington didn't have to look to him to know that Tucker was glaring intently, trying to meet his eyes.

“Look Washington. Whoever fucked you up, that's not my business. But you brought them to my apartment, and with you hanging around, you're only going to bring them here faster. I know you can't wait to see them again, but unlike you, I don't have a deathwish.”

They both stood quietly for a few moments before Washington began walking to the door. Tucker only watched him, unmoving from his spot.

“Where are you going?” Washington almost wanted to think that Tucker sounded concerned, but the undertone of annoyance and paranoia was impossible to miss.

“I'm just—going to go for a walk. I'll make some calls and get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Tucker opened his mouth for a moment like he wanted to say something and Washington waited, but Tucker seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth shut again. Neither said anything as Washington walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

 

 

The agent only made it as far as the street before a rush of flame and air knocked him forward, the loud shattering and cracking of an explosion behind him. The moment of piercing ear-splitting sound was immediately followed by numb limbs and silence, everything muffled in his ears and senses.

Washington managed to sit up and look behind him. The apartment's windows were blown out and the building was filled with flames licking at the walls and outside as smoke began to billow up into the summer sky.

And then Special Agent David Washington blacked out on the side of the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm honestly seriously contemplating discontinuing this fic in favor of the Grimmons fic I've just started and the Superhero AU (Tuckington-centric!) that I'm plotting out and am about to start writing. This fic wasn't nearly as well-crafted as it could have been and it should have been planned more carefully, but I might see it through to the end just for the sake of wrapping it up and getting that experience.
> 
> Or I might just scrap it. Still debating!


	7. At The Bedside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker wakes up in the hospital. Washington won't stop holding his hand.

He remembered going for Washington's coat.

Even though it was still hot outside, Wash never went anywhere without his coat, and Tucker knew he'd regret leaving it behind, so he grabbed the coat and opened the door to follow him.

Then he remembered shit blowing up behind him and falling forward out of his apartment.

Instinctively he covered his face and neck, curling up to protect himself, which did him well when glass started raining from the windows and the whole place started falling apart. Everything was warm, so warm, hotter than usual—the lick of red and yellow flames teased him from the corners of his eyes. Smoke was everywhere, flooding his senses, but everything was oddly quiet and still.

The world went dark after that.

The next thing he remembered was something warm wrapped around his hand. It was rough and calloused, yet simultaneously soft and comforting, and Tucker instinctively held onto it. There was talking in the distance, whether it was shouting or whispering Tucker couldn't really tell. It was a struggle to open his eyes and he gave up after a little while, but whatever was holding onto his hand, he held onto firmly and refused to let go.

Lavernius Tucker woke up three days later.

The first thing he noticed was the warmth on his hand, like it had never left, but then that everything didn't smell like smoke and copper anymore. Actually, it smelled almost alarmingly sterile, and when Tucker opened his eyes he had to squint a bit because the ceiling was blindingly white.

He was tempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but the fact that he wasn't quite sure where he was now was alarming enough to warrant fighting off the aching drowsiness and to sit up and turn his head to figure out what the hell was still holding onto him.

There was Special Agent David Washington, hunched over, asleep in a chair pulled up next to him, his gray coat (a bit darker in some spots now than it had been before) draped over his shoulders, holding Tucker's hand like they were going to die if he let go.

It only took a few more seconds for Tucker to realize he was in a hospital bed and gown, hooked up to a machine and fuck, how long had he been here? The TV in the corner of the room was off and the machines read his vitals but nothing that actually meant anything to Tucker. The curtains over the window were closed, but judging by the faint light petering in, Tucker guessed it was either early in the morning or early in the evening.

He decided against waking Wash up, but as he slumped back and started to close his eyes, Washington stirred beside him.

“...Tucker?”

This time he didn't sit up, but he turned enough to face Washington and give him a small grin. “I don't think I'm supposed to have a roommate here either, Wash.”

Washington blinked in stunned silence for a moment, tightening his grip on Tucker's hand as if verifying that he was really there, before letting out a deep sigh. He lowered his forehead to rest against Tucker's hand, mumbling something Tucker couldn't hear before looking up and smiling softly back at Tucker. “Sorry, it's going to take more than that to kick me out this time.”

Tucker rolled his eyes but found himself grinning uncontrollably as he turned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “How long was I out for? Do we have robots now? Flying cars?”

“It's been only three days.”

“Aw, what? Lame.”

“I could always ask them to stick you in the freezer if you want. Have someone unfreeze you when the time is right.” Tucker snorted, shaking his head before closing his eyes. “You're lucky, Tucker. They said if you'd been inside the apartment...well, you wouldn't be here now.”

“Good thing you forgot your coat then, huh?”

“When they found you, they said it was like you were holding onto it for dear life.”

“Yeah, shit was kind of exploding so I might have done that.”

Then they were quiet for awhile. Tucker could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, and Washington's hand was still firmly holding his own. Occasionally he could feel Washington pressing his forehead to his hand again, and once he could swear Wash whispered something. It took Tucker a little while to make out what he had said, but when he figured it out, he opened his eyes.

“Wash?”

“Yes?”

“I don't blame you.” Washington didn't say anything, and when Tucker turned his head to look at him he was looking away. “I'm serious, Wash. It's not your fault, and even if it was—we both fucked up, alright? So don't sit here blaming yourself for it.”

It was silent until Washington spoke again, and when he did it was barely above a whisper. “...I'm so sorry, Tucker.”

Tucker rolled onto his side to face Wash and used his free hand to gently push Washington's jaw with his fist, a soft, fake punch, just enough to touch him and to display his irritation and affection. “I just said I don't blame you, so quit beating yourself up. Jesus.”

Washington looked to Tucker, who gave him a bright grin in response. He still looked hesitant to accept it, but Washington ended up smiling as well. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah...you owe me an apartment though, you know.”

“I do have my own place. I suppose we're going to be roommates for awhile longer.”

“Okay, but I get to rearrange all your furniture this time.”

For a moment they sat in contented silence until Tucker looked to their hands, and Washington abruptly let go. “I—Sorry about that. I—I just—“

“Oh my god Wash, seriously? Quit apologizing for everything.” Anything Washington might have said was swallowed down, and Tucker couldn't help but notice the faint red tinting Washington's normally pale skin. “There's no need to be embarrassed about it, alright? You were worried about me. And I appreciate it, so—it's fine, okay?”

It was weird to be reassuring Washington like this. Wash had spent so long having his head held so high, Tucker would have never expected to see him with his head bowed at his bedside like this. Without saying another word, Washington reached for Tucker's hand again, and Tucker obliged, lacing their fingers together and giving Washington a reassuring grin. Washington still wouldn't quite face him, and Tucker couldn't really place what exactly his expression was. Almost like Washington felt guilty for indulging himself, for doing something he shouldn't have been even though Tucker told him it was alright.

Before Tucker could say anything about it, Washington suddenly sat up in realization. “Oh! Wait, before I forget...” He didn't let go, but he turned to his side to reach into a bag sitting next to the chair with his free hand. “They didn't manage to recover a whole lot from the explosion, but...” He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a familiar handle. Watching Tucker's eyes light up, Washington tried to restrain his grin, handing it over.

Tucker couldn't be entirely delighted though. “Wait—I don't understand. This is what you came for from the very beginning. You could have just taken the sword and be done with it, why stay? Why give it back?”

“I said I want to protect you, didn't I?”

Tucker stared at the sword handle for a moment longer before huffing, tossing it back to Wash and turning to lay on his back. “I can't tell if you're too nice or too stupid for your own good, Wash.”

“I'd like to think the former, but probably the latter.” Tucker chuckled before closing his eyes again, and this time he found himself drifting off to sleep with ease.

Washington sat there for much longer, holding onto Tucker's hand before slowly letting go and rising to his feet. He quietly made his way out of the room and softly closed the door behind him before reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

Now that he was sure Tucker was going to be alright, he had some business to attend to.


End file.
